


[Translation]Understatement

by isaakfvkampfer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Order 66, Sad Ending, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13997988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaakfvkampfer/pseuds/isaakfvkampfer
Summary: He could draw a line between the two. A straight, clear line. Aayla Secura had been a Jedi, and Jedi were traitors; yet she had been his General who had given him his name.He could draw a line.





	[Translation]Understatement

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [抑言法](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/364272) by Narcisecho. 



> Translator: If there's any mistake, please let me know.

Understatement

Narcisecho

Her skin was blue, the colour of some peculiar and poisonous plant. He saluted her because that was expected of a Clone Trooper. They followed orders.

***

They fought in Quell, Coruscant and Felucia. She always fought in the front, an unstoppable miracle untouched by blast fire. Every piece of a Clone’ equipment looked like a parody compared to what the Jedi was capable of. They used grapples and jetpack to imitate Jedi’s jumps, scanners to compensate the lack of Force instinct, and the blaster, well... was a far cry from the lightsaber wielded elegantly and powerfully in her hand. She approached him with dance-like paces, deflecting a blaster bolt that would have not doubt hit him in the face if not for her interception.

“Thank you, General.”

Battlefield was no place to even spare a smile. She moved away, lightsaber cutting throw clankers as easily as dinner knife to butter. He followed her.

***

He was surrounded by droids, in retreat until there was no where to go. His fall was so sudden that he didn’t let out a cry when he was caught by something that allowed him a gentle landing.

Knowing he would find her up there, he lifted his head just in time to watch her hand withdraw—a final touch to dissolve the the cocoon she had woven a moment ago. The Force, he thought, had pushed him out of the harms way when a blackened hole was all that was left in his place. They straighted up at the same time. He dipped his head to thank her for saving his life. It was one of too many similar situations that they no longer needed the gratefulness to be spoken. He held his blaster up again, ignoring the stabbing pain in his muscles inevitable after remaining in a posture for too long.

***

Considering her upbringing on Coruscant, it was a wonder she had an accent. Sometimes the vowels were missing; sometimes the stress appeared at the end of a word. It sounded deliberate—not in the bad way—and earnest. “You sound like south—” he said in a rare moment of lightheartedness before he caught himself, embarrassed. “—not that south of one planet shares that kind of similarity with another’s. I never lived in the south. Kamino Clone training center is at the—“

Her laughter cut him short. He allowed himself a moment to drown in her affection and curiosity.

“Bly,” she said. “Ryl word for _south._ It suits you. You might want to give it a shot.”

“Bly,” he repeated, feeling an odd sense of weakness and frailty under her scrutiny, his blaster almost slipping out of his hand. “I like it. Bly, my name.”

***

Every one of them got a name as time went on. They painted their armors to tell each other apart. She never misidentified any of them, always calling them by their names even when their helmets which were meant to make them faceless were never taken off.

***

She bit a chank off a colorful insect before licking her fingers clean and staring at him innocently, “you should try one.” Her drawn-out voice couldn’t hide her mischievously smile.

***

The look she gave him spoke volume for her disapproval. She didn’t like the way he held the blaster in his hand like it was part of him, his casualness— it spoke of a painful run-in time.

“You take your lightsaber with you all the time,” he argued. It sounded disrespectful but it was not.

“The lightsaber is my life,” the sentence slipped from her lips so smoothly that as a clone, he instinctly recognized it as a doctrine drilled in head. “Put your blaster away, Bly. Go somewhere,” she shook her head and made an ambiguous gesture. “Have a drink or something. You are on Coruscant. _Relax_.”

She walked to the Temple and he got a compulsory leave. He had had the words _I’ve got to watch your back_ or something stuck in his throat, but in the end he said nothing. He headed to a bar recommended by Rex.

***

“I have no memory of Ryloth. Not a single one of them,” she said after a moment of contemplation. “I heard it was a harsh planet. My people are scattered all over the Galaxy, many of them sold into slavery. The Twi’lek is not considered a noble species.

“Master Yoda treated me kindly. I guess it’s because I always looked so blue.”

He talked about Kamino, the locked-down facility at Tipoca City, group exercises and devouring knowledge like it was food. He told her a design error had caused his designated accuracy to stray slightly to the left and how difficult it had been to adjust. He described to her the awe he had felt when he had first stepped into Kamino’s stroms departing for his first battle assignment, how pale and flat the holo-projection had been compared to the real thing.

***

“I will take the first watch,” she said with her usual lightness when she actually could fall over any minute our of exhaustion, her Lekkus listless, balled hands shaking.

“Let me,” he said. “Get some rest, General. A good 4-hour sleep and you’ll be good. I am watching your back.”

“Two,” she argued and only after seeing him nod did she drop beside the tree root and curl into a fetal position as if cold. She fell sleep instantly.

He thought she wore too few clothes. His desire was odd. He wanted her, but not just that.

***

She was tough. Body and soul. The Force protecting her made her invincible.

The geomagnetism of the tropical planet messed their navigational instruments, but she led them—sure and confident—through complicated paths. The Force remained a mystery to him while it opened to her. He was grateful that she had it as a dependable charm. “No, we don’t _pray_ to the Force,” she let out a surprised laugh after he had spoken to her so. “The Force doesn’t work like that.”

When night fell, he prayed to the Force in the the limited and simple words of a Clone. He asked it to protect her. He pleaded, _I might not always be able to watch her back._

***

He was furious after she got hurt. She bled red, a stunning colour in contrast to her blue skin. Her voice was deep and strong, not one that people typically assumed of hers. “I have you to watch my back,” she said and that made him feel like the floor under his foot was disappearing until he was just a man in a dark void; happiness bubbled but was unable to turn into words.

“Fine,” he murmured. “I will watch your back.”

***

He was watching her back.

He didn’t need to look at any other clone to know that every one of them was following orders. Maybe he shot first. Maybe not.

He shot once. Then again.

She didn't even raise her saber.

***

Her body was lying on Falucia’s earth. He took a picture, uploaded it, and it was done.

“What should we do?” Someone asked. “The War—”

“—is over,” he cut him short out aloud. The sentence completed itself in his head, _in an odd and indescribable way._ He understood that the power beyond his imagination in dormancy for ages had finally surged and concluded it all. They didn’t even have the ability to approach the center of the storm. _Good soldiers follow orders._ That was enough.

They continued their mission of assaulting the Seperatists’ stronghold. The enemies weren’t expecting them. Instead, they had been celebrating with Champagne. He smashed the goblets. Some pieces got stuck in his palm and he pressed his wound to the blaster handle.

Brothers died in the battle. He envied them and wondered why he wasn’t one of them.

***

“Damn us,” on the way back to Coruscant, Cameron whispered—a statement full of dread. They sat face to face in the small cabin, knees always bumping into each other when all they wanted was to avoid it.

“Shut up,” he ordered pointedly.

“Kriff you,” Lucky spat. “You cold-blooded son of a bitch.” He would have jumped him if not for Ice and Jamie’s intervention. With several of them standing up, the cabin felt more cramped. Lucky, who was left in the only open space with two brothers on each side for his outburst moments ago, pleaded keenly, “I couldn’t stand looking at her—“ He looked pale, seeking confession. “She was...was so good.”

He lowered his voice, trying to curl into a ball. His brothers released him. He slipped to the floor.

***

A whole year had passed before they saw each other again. Lucky walked towards him after spotting him in the Stormtrooper Training Centre. Instead addressing him, Lucky just said, “I turned her over and poked the lightsaber on the ground beside her.”

His tone was near-proud. Bly walked closer to him as if sharing his joy, then kicked him in the groin. Lucky fell to the ground, face twisted in pain, doubt clear in his eyes. It was a nasty way to disable a man, yet controlled. “Pull yourself up, soldier. I took away her saber and turned it in. You shot her, CT-5034. Stop being a karking coward.”

***

When they finally went back to Coruscant for inspection, it was as members of the Galatic Empire instead of the Republic. _We were all fooled. All of us_. He thought. _It’s just that some paid a dearer price._ Images of Renegade Jedi escaping Order 66 were played in loops on big holoscreens floating above the streets, demanding citizens contact the authority if having any clue. He inspected every one of them for several times, not knowing what he was looking for. He was counting. So few of them. Several Knights, fewer Padawans.

In the soldier’s lounge, Cody stopped polishing his blaster. “He escaped,” he said proudly. Holding his chin high, he looked around, making sure that every clone heard what he had just said, almost defiant. “He’s not dead. Obi-Wan Kenobi is not dead.”

By the time he came closer, Cody was already on the ground, surrounded by angry clones. It was almost impossible to get any nearer. He could see blood in his nose, cuts on his forehead, but also the brightness in his eyes as if they were actually shining. He growled out of jealousy.

***

Some clones blasted their heads away. They described their Jedi Generels and Commanders time and time again. “He was so little, 14-years-old, jumping here and there on the battlefield.”

He lived.

***

He could draw a line between the two. A straight, clear line. Aayla Secura had been a Jedi, and Jedi were traitors; yet she had been his General who had given him his name.

He had to follow orders. He didn’t have a choice. He hadn’t.

He lived.

***

He woke up in the middle of a night, tears streaming down his cheeks. He opened his mouth in the darkness and a sob escaped, so loud that he felt ashamed. He folded in himself until his spine almost snapped. Using his arms to support his weight, he hit his head on the wall at the foot of his bunk. He could hear the sickening bumps when bones smashed into durasteel.

He hit it again.

And again.

***

Falucia’s landscapes were covered by peculiar and poisonous plants. They had to advance on foot to avoid the unwelcome surprises from them as well as the wild lives dwelling among them. All-day’s hard trek through jungles was enough to drain everyone’s energy. He had been on high alert for landmines spread across the plants-covered lands set by the Separatists. Their numbers had shrunk thanks to these killers. When they finally called the day, General Secura ordered the boys to rest on site. His arms were stiff from holding a gun for so long. He felt undetonated mines everywhere looming in shadows. Long-time on high alert had pumped him full of adrenaline that he couldn’t even rest. He stood up and approached Secura from behind, watching the fortress afar with her.

“Get some rest, Bly,” she didn’t turn around, voice deprived of even an ounce impatience. He shook his head and didn’t say anything. He felt she had already known.

When she finally turned around, focusing all her attention on him in the dim light of the fluorescent plants, he was thinking about himself, shadows under his haunted eyes, thrilled, wearing the war like a skin. She approached him, lost, yet determined, with eyes so bright that he couldn’t look at her. His lips touched hers, his arms locked behind her. He felt scorched by her General’s natural high body temperature.

The kiss started not tenderly, but grew gentle until it was only flesh against flesh, touching. She pushed him away. “Rest,” it was a request, soft and calm. He wanted to say something, but a look towards her silenced him. He nodded, with her fingers lingering on his cheekbone. Aayla Secura smiled and moved her hand on his forehead. Before he could put his question into words, he had already be pushed into a dreamless slumber.

***

He woke up and felt her waist under his arm, the heat and the traces her fingers and lips had left on him. When he looked into the mirror, he could see that they were blue—her blue that was never going to fade.

He lived.

And died fast.

tbc

**Author's Note:**

> All Clones from 327th mentioned in this fic are from the Order 66 scene on Felucia. They shot her.


End file.
